


collision

by screechfox



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23040397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox
Summary: Mike has never liked Jude all that much. They still end up seeing plenty of each other.
Relationships: Michael "Mike" Crew & Jude Perry
Comments: 10
Kudos: 72
Collections: The Magnus Archives Rare Pairs 2020





	collision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quantumducky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky/gifts).



> god i am so sorry, i started this back in late january but it just didn't click back then, and then i finally finished it this morning on a whim! i hope you still enjoy it, i love the weird politics that go on between the avatars, and mike and jude are two joys!

“Your god is pathetic,” hisses Jude, once she’s thrown Mike to the ground. “I should kill you.”

Her hands are around his throat, searing into his skin, but Mike only laughs, breathless. Once you’ve been struck by lightning, no other pain really compares.

“Try it.” Mike lifts his chin. He can see the moment she notices the depthlessness of his gaze. “It would make a mess when you hit the ground. All that wax splattered across the floor. Horrible.”

Jude grits her teeth, clearly considering her options. He’s just hoping she’s not prepared to endure the promise of mutually assured destruction. Mike is very good at making ultimatums. 

Just when he thinks she might actually kill him, she scoffs and kicks him aside. Never taking his eyes off Jude, Mike rubs at the scorched flesh of his throat. It’s healing already, not even leaving a scar, and he breathes a sigh of relief. A lightning bolt is a conversation piece, but burned handprints would draw more attention than he’d like.

(He’ll have to find a skyscraper or two tomorrow, of course, but that’s just the way of things; a little bit of recompense for the Vast’s protection.)

“Honestly, the thing about the Desolation is that you’re all so gratuitous.”

Mike enjoys feeding what feeds him, true enough, but it’s always been a matter of necessity. He’ll do what he must, but he doesn’t revel in it like Jude and her ilk revel in pointless violence. He knows he’s a bad person, that’s no secret, but they’re really on another level.

“I mean, would it kill you to show some manners?”

“It might kill you,” Jude snaps. She’s glowing with fury. Impressive, in a showy sort of way.

“Right.” Mike shakes his head, pulling himself to his feet and brushing the dirt from his clothes. “Look, how about we just go our separate ways? I wasn’t really looking for a fight today.” All he was looking for was someone to send plummeting — a quick and easy meal. That unlucky soul happened to be a sadistic project for the poster child of the Lightless Flame, and here they are.

“Your sort never are,” she scoffs, and he wonders which of the Fairchilds she’s run afoul of. 

“It was nice meeting you, Jude.”

“Oh, please.” She turns on her heel and leaves Mike to gather his composure. The pavement is unpleasantly solid beneath him. He sighs, staring up at the clouded sky.

There’s a reason he prefers to stay out of esoteric politics. 

Mike is drinking tea in an overpriced cafe at the heart of London when he feels a flare of heat from the seat across from him. He’s not entirely surprised to look up and see Jude, looking him over with obvious derision. He puts his mug down — it’ll only get too hot to drink.

“Very public place to try and kill someone,” Mike comments mildy.

“I’m not going to try and kill you, idiot.” Jude looks the same as when he saw her last, though he thinks there might be some subtle differences in the features of her face. “But nowhere is too public to try and kill someone. Surely you know that. Anywhere can be a stage.”

“Oh, I don’t kill people. That’s not really the point. I just push them. Whether they hit the ground is anyone’s guess.” Jude opens her mouth, and he continues, “did you want something?”

He watches as her face twists in annoyance, but finally, she relents.

“Do you know the Archivist?”

Mike hums, considering the question. It’s a strange thing for Jude, of all people, to ask him.

“Not personally. I hear she stopped the Twisting Deceit’s ritual, so I can’t say I mind her.”

“That’s only because she never stopped one of yours,” Jude mutters, and the gleam of hatred in her eyes is more furious than anything she’s directed at Mike. Ah, it’s personal, then. 

“You’re probably right about that. Still, if I met her, I’d like to shake her hand.”

“She’d kill you before you got close enough to try.”

“You’re probably right about that too.”

Jude turns that hate-filled glare onto him, and he raises his eyebrows, smiling as pleasantly as he can. Honestly, it’s amusing how important she thinks she is. Her threats of death and violence are nothing in the grand scheme of things, and still she holds firm. Sure, she has all that bright burning power, but even stars die eventually, fading into the cold.

“What does the Archivist have to do with me?” Mike asks, hoping for a quick end to this conversation — although he’s not optimistic about his chances.

“Nothing yet,” Jude spits. “Careful I don’t put her on your scent.”

“The Archivist has bigger picture concerns than me. Me and mine aren’t much of a threat to the world as it is — not right now. You and yours, on the other hand…”

There’s a moment where Mike thinks she’s genuinely going to reach across the table and kill him, camera and bystanders and mutually assured destruction be damned. She’s incandescent with rage. Then she sags, all the anger rushing out of her at once. The pride on her face turns brittle. Idly, Mike wonders who the Archivist killed to provoke this reaction. It must have been someone important — actually important, not Jude’s brand of arrogance.

“If I’d known you when we were both human,” Mike continues, sighing, “I think I might have killed you. I’ve never been a fan of people who pretend like the world revolves around them.”

“It doesn’t.” Jude is almost sullen now, glaring at him with coal-black eyes. “It revolves— It  _ revolved _ around a woman named Agnes Montague. I don’t know how, but Gertrude Robinson got to her somehow— and now she’s dead, and we have nothing.”

“To be perfectly honest, I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“I… I can’t go after her. She knows how to deal with us. But you could.”

“Ah. You want me to put myself in the firing line so that you can get your revenge.” Mike takes a sip of scalding tea, pretending at contemplation. “No.”

“She’s as much your enemy as she is mine.”

“You really think that? If you want cannon fodder, go and find a servant of the End.”

“Your problem is that you’re not any fun,” Jude says. She’s regained a little of her spark, her words petulant and bitter. “If I suggested that to Nikola, she’d be all for it.”

Nikola isn’t a name Mike has heard before, but he isn’t planning to let on. Jude has the shark-smile of someone who will go after any hint of blood in the water. 

“So why don’t you? I was quite enjoying that tea.”

“Are you sure you won’t go after the Archivist for me?” She leans forward, a slow smirk cutting a line across her face. “I promise not to murder you if you do.”

“Jude, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll take my chances.”

Jude is silent for several moments, staring at him with an implacable glare as though that will make him change his mind. He smiles, letting a hint of dizzy heights brush itself across her mind. Jude sways as she stands up; by the scowl that crosses her face, she knows it’s his fault.

Without ceremony, she reaches across the table and picks up his cup of tea. She drops it to the floor with a crash, sending boiling liquid arcing through the air. She walks off before the owners can confront her, leaving Mike rather unpleasantly the center of attention.

Aside from her smug self-importance and unrepentant sadism, Mike doesn’t actually mind the idea of doing Jude a favour or two, returned in kind. It’s pleasantly transactional and ruthlessly pragmatic: there are some things she can’t get the Circus to do for her, and there are some problems he can’t solve with a heavy application of vertigo.

They end up interacting more than he’d prefer, usually in expensive little coffee shops where they can pretend that witnesses pose any barrier to what they could do to each other.

On one of these meetings, Jude is gleeful even by her standards. She doesn’t even threaten to murder him when she sits down. It’s honestly a little disconcerting.

“Did you hear the news about the Archivist?” The way she shifts in her chair calls to mind the impatient flickering dance of candle flame, destruction leashed but not tamed. “I didn’t believe it when I first heard, but a little asking around confirmed it. Gertrude Robinson is dead.”

Mike raises his eyebrows. Well, isn’t that something? End of an era, or so Mike has heard.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. Even better, the word going around is that Elias Bouchard killed her. Isn’t that wonderful? Not only is Gertrude Robinson gone, but the Eye is eating itself alive. We barely need to do anything, just let their little temple self-destruct.”

“Mm.” Mike’s apathy must be obvious on his face, because Jude’s smile turns to a scowl.

“Honestly, Mike. This is… oh, just delicious.”

“You know I’ve never minded the Watcher all that much myself.” In another life — one where his curiosity wasn’t so desperate — he thinks he could have ended up at the Institute. 

“Remind me why I’m talking to you again?”

“You wanted to celebrate, and your mannequin friend can’t get drunk?”

“Now there’s an idea,” Jude says, resting her chin on her hand. “All drinks are on me?”

“I’ll pass. I don’t think it’s a good idea to go to a pub with an acolyte of the Lightless Flame.” Mike gives her a wry smile — for once, it’s not personal. “You’re a violent drunk, aren’t you?”

“Surprisingly weepy,” Jude admits, rolling her eyes.

Eventually, the peace will break. But for now, Mike raises his cup of tea in a silent toast — to the Eye, to the Desolation, to the Vast. 

**Author's Note:**

> like i said, i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> i can be found at [screechfoxes](http://screechfoxes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! have a good day!


End file.
